The River and the Highway
by twinkylady
Summary: *COMPLETE* Reflections of two people who can never be together....or can they?


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Summary:Reflections of two people who can never be together

Pairing:Ororo/Victor

Feedback:Better than sex…and flames toast marshmallows!

Archiving:Sure, just ask first!

Disclaimer:The characters of this story belong to Marvel, Fox, et al. I own nothing and make no money.

The song is titled The River and The Highway, performed by Pam Tillis and written by Gerry House and Don Schlitz.

Author's Note:Although this fiction is set in movieverse, I have taken a small liberty with the matter of Ororo's uniform for the sake of one particular scene. Timeline is a few years after the movie ends.

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She follows the path of least resistance  
She doesn't care to see the mountain top  
She twists and turns with no regard to distance  
She never comes to a stop

  
Ororo Munroe stood on the balcony outside her small window in the attics of the Xavier Institute for the Gifted. Looking out at the night sky always helped to calm her when she was feeling tense--or at least it used to. She had been spending hours each night out on the balcony for far longer than she cared to admit--and with no apparent effect. She sighed, resigned to another sleepless night. At least she didn't require much rest to function normally. 

She was generally of a serene and controlled disposition--something she had developed very deliberately over the years. She had found out when her powers manifested as a young girl that when her emotions were violent she had no control over the weather patterns. Watching an entire village washed away by flood waters in the African desert was enough to sober even the wildest hellion. She was surprised no one had commented on her troubled state…or at least the fact that snow flurries were falling in May.

She snorted at that--someone notice Ororo? She had become so good at controlled and quiet that she faded into the background. With students like Jubilee, who created fireworks with a flutter of her yellow-lacquered nails, or instructors like Scott and his optic blasts, who'd notice a mere weather witch? She may have been worshipped as a goddess in Africa, but here in Westchester, in a world of extraordinary people she was--well, in a word, she was ordinary.

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And she rolls, she's a river  
Where she goes, time will tell  
Heaven knows, he can't go with her  
And she rolls, all by herself  
All by herself

  
Once, though, she thought she had met her match. A man larger than life, a man with rages more intense than her own, a man capable of literally grabbing her by the throat and have her beg for mercy. No man had ever had the nerve to treat a goddess in such a fashion. Even Remy, that charming Cajun devil who flirted with any female old enough to be walking and talking, was practically deferential. She knew that her exotic looks were intimidating to many, to say nothing of her control over the elements. She supposed that the thought of being struck by lightning would be enough to keep most at a distance.

But not Victor. 

In the train station, while she dangled from his strong grip she had seen the flare of his nostrils, the slight widening of his eyes as he took in her scent. Her arousal. His total lack of fear, his total confidence in his mastery of the situation, and of her was damn sexy. Later, during the fight in the Statue of Liberty when he had stroked her cheek with one claw and whispered that she owed him a scream, she had an orgasm on his leg. 

The other X-men couldn't see that he had forced her body back against the cold shell of the statue, his iron-hard erection twitching on her belly and his knee rubbed expertly between her thighs. He had trailed the tip of his tongue over her ear as he pressed his knee against her clitoris. She had clamped her jaws together, and the little mewl that had escaped her throat was not one of fear, as her teammates had supposed, but was in response to the intense pleasure shooting through the center of her body. When he stepped away from her, there was a damp circle on the fabric of his pants. 

As a strict vegetarian, Ororo had refused to wear the leather suits the other team members had chosen. Her uniform consisted of a tightly woven black silk catsuit covered with a Kevlar vest and arm and leg shields. After the fight in the Statue, much to Scott's surprise she had requested a uniform to match Jean's. 

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He's headed for a single destination  
He doesn't care what's standing in his path  
He's a line between two points of separation  
He ends just where it says to on the map

  
Victor Creed lay naked on his back, the covers kicked in a tangle to the end of the bed. Once again, he had awoken with an erection so tight and hard that the barest touch against his flesh would cause his seed to spray his chest and belly. Though most people wouldn't believe it by looking at him, Victor was a very fastidious man, and he really didn't want to clean up the inevitable mess. That was one major problem with his leonine appearance - all that hair could really get in the way sometimes.

The white-haired witch was haunting his dreams again. Every so often, he would toss restlessly, tormented by visions of his tongue stroking smooth cocoa skin, strong supple legs wrapped around his hips, or better yet, his shoulders. The dreams were so vivid, he could smell her in the air, the ozone sharp and crackling. He turned towards the open window and could see the roiling clouds and the occasional bolt of heat lightning split the sky. His eyes closed as he pictured her long white hair draped over his lap, his hands fisted in the glossy strands as she used her mouth on him. 

  
Growling in frustration, he rolled to the edge of the bed and stood up, one hand clasping the head of his cock tightly while the other was wrapped about the base in a desperate effort to keep his orgasm delayed until he could at least reach the bathroom.

  
He wasn't any more successful this night than he had been any other night before. As soon as his hands touched his own hot skin his hips involuntarily pumped and a few short strokes later his entire body bucked in glorious release. He made his way to the bathroom and into the shower. As the warm spray sluiced over his skin, he slumped against the tile. Why her? 

Victor knew he was not unattractive to women, despite his fearsome appearance. Most days had him turning away at least one offer to warm his bed. What on earth had possessed him to want her? Why would only her image bring him to the point of no return? He had eventually found himself unable to perform at all with a woman, though each time it had happened he had made sure the woman was pleasured so thoroughly that she had no reason to complain.

  
_And he rolls, he's a highway  
Where he goes, time will tell  
Heaven knows, she can't go with him  
And he rolls, all by himself  
All by himself_

They were on opposite sides. He didn't know for sure if he agreed with all that shit the old man spewed about a war between the mutants and the humans…the "war" had never been realized as far as an out-and-out military exercise, but things had been largely unchanged for the past few years…humans still feared mutants, and they had finally passed that damn mutant registration law despite Mystique's outspoken opposition as "Senator Kelly." He had long since decided to stick to doing what he knew best. Victor was a soldier. A mercenary to be precise. His loyalties lay squarely with the money and nothing else--and the old man paid very well indeed. 

  
She fought for her principles and an ideal that he couldn't even begin to grasp. After their first encounters, he had done some research and found that surprisingly they had much in common. He had been cast out of his family when he was a child. They had been frightened of his appearance and he had been left to fend for himself on the streets, much as she had done on the opposite side of the world. They had both seen the worst side of mankind, yet she still believed that man and mutant could share the earth. Indeed, she believed that mutants were still just men when so many feared and hated them. Certainly no mutant had _asked_ to be born into such an accursed existence.

She did not fear him. Indeed that first day in the train station, he was had smelled her arousal. It was all he could do to stop himself from taking her on the floor amid the rubble. In the Statue, he had shielded her with his body as he whispered in her ear, his tongue darting out to taste her. Feeling his trousers dampen with her juices as she rode his knee had damn near made him come right there on her belly. Her body shuddering against him was the most delicious thing he had ever felt.

Victor snickered, his cock twitching in reaction to the memories. He didn't wash that particular pair of pants for several weeks--not until the smell of her body had faded completely from the fabric. 

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And every now and then, he offers her a shoulder  
And every now and then, she overflows  
And every now and then, a bridge crosses over  
It's a moment that every lover knows

He stepped from the shower, the water having long since turned icy cold. He briskly toweled his body dry and walked naked to the full-length windows that were opposite his bed. He threw open the etched glass panes and let the breeze tickle the soft hair covering him. His eyes closed, he threw back his head and stretched, but stopped suddenly. He leaned forward into the breeze and sniffed, confusion creasing his brow. 

Snow? In May? What in the…?

Then he relaxed, a grin curving his lips in male satisfaction. 

It was good to know he wasn't the only one whose sleep had been interrupted.

He took a few deep breaths of the chilly air and inhaled her presence, a scent as alluring as any perfume. Perhaps when next they met, she wouldn't get away quite so easily.

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And she rolls (and he rolls)  
She's a river (he's a highway)  
Where she goes (where he goes)  
Time will tell (Time will tell)  
Heaven knows she can't go with him (he can't go with her)  
And she rolls all by herself  
And he rolls all by himself  
Fare thee well

Ororo stepped back into her room, firmly closing the doors to the balcony. Restless and aroused, she paced the length of her bed. A streak had been worn into the finish of the wood planks from her nightly "walks." She couldn't keep this up much longer - one of them had to do something…_anything_.

Perhaps when next they met, she wouldn't try to escape.


End file.
